


Run Dry [ON HIATUS]

by Youngblood_the_Killjoy



Series: The New Adventures of Old Drunkards [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 2 am, Awkward Boners, Awkwardness, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Songfic, Teasing, definitely some of that, drunk!Pete, i guess, not really - Freeform, or some other generic early morning time, sort of, worried!Patrick, yeah no it's definitely a songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youngblood_the_Killjoy/pseuds/Youngblood_the_Killjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete doesn't have a drinking problem, he swears. If anything, it's a drinking solution.<br/>T for language, slightly sexual situations and my own paranoia (susceptible to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Get Drunk A Little Too Much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Suriya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suriya/gifts), [Panic4Panic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic4Panic/gifts).



> WHOO HOO FIRST ACTUAL STORY ON HERE!!!!!!! So this is my first drunk AU of many. We're starting with Pete because we can. Kind of not really a songfic of "Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)" by the beautiful Patrick Stump. The chapters are really just named after the lyrics to the bridge. I'm thinking about adding smut, so the rating might change.

It's not really as bad as they make it out to be. I'm _fine_. But they don't get that. I can handle my liquor: whiskey, beer, rum, vodka, wine, you name it, I can take it. It's good for me. I need it. I _feed_ off it. Of course, there are times when I...see things, to put it lightly. But that's just why it's so good for me: it gets rid of my inhibitions and makes it easier to love everyone. The world is brighter, my senses are...well, not sharper, but I'm more aware of things when I'm not too deep. Most importantly, the pain all goes away. I can forget about everything: my depression that's on the edge of spiraling out of control, my relationship that I'm pretty sure is over, cause I think I made it pretty clear that _no, Ashlee, you're a psycho bitch that I hate and we will never get back together_. But she's gonna come back. She always finds a way to come back. Which reminds me I should probably get a restraining order--

"Pete?!"

 _Oh, no._ Now Patrick's here and he's gonna take me away from my euphoria. Him and his...stupid, beautiful, soft face and stupid innocent, doe eyes and his cute little butt. God, that butt. I love it. I have _dreams_ about that butt. Dreams that usually end with me needing to change my underwear and sheets. And that butt was coming right towards me, attached to a body with a face of determination.

"Pete, do you understand how worried I've been? I have been worried _sick_ about you! What were you even _thinking_? Wait, no, you weren't thinking, you _dick_ \--"

"You have a really nice ass." And I was almost compelled to look around and see who said that because surely, _surely_ those words didn't come out of _my_ mouth.

"Um."

"I mean...thanks. Fr...mm...wor-worrrrying." And, oh, well, there goes my ability to speak. Oh, well, it wouldn't have saved me anyway.

"Yeah...let's just get you home, man," he said, dragging me off to the place I call home. I must have been quite a load to carry, seeing as my brain decided to cut all ties to my legs, causing me to have to lean my entire weight on him. And, as if it couldn't get any worse, I was hard. Hey, don't blame me. Blame that doe-eyed, cute-ass little fucker.

****************************************************

"Alright," he said as we stepped through the threshold of my house, "here we are." He led me up to my bedroom and plopped me on the bed.

"Now, you just stay here and change into pajamas or some shit, I don't care, just stay out of trouble. I'll be back with some water for you." I gave him a half-assed drunk salute and took off my shirt with ease. Then I got to work on my shoes. By the time he got back up, I had been successful in taking off all of one shoe. I was working on my second shoe's laces, when my fingers gave out, leaving me to mindlessly rub at the bow of shoelaces, sitting there, all tied up. Taunting me. I could practically hear them now: _nah nah nah boo boo, na na na boo boo, na--_

"Jesus Christ, Pete, here, let me--" He cut himself off with a sigh as he impatiently brushed my hands out of the way and got to work on that _stupid_ bow, while I made frugal attempts to open my jeans and get them off. After finishing with my shoes, he saw my battle with my jeans and began to reach toward the button. _Oh, thank god, some help. Wait._ I had completely forgotten about my boner. I turned my shoulder to him.

"No, no, no," I mumbled drunkenly, "I gottit."

"Pete, just let me--"

"Noooooooo. I've got it."

"Pete--"

"Nooooooo. _I've. Got. It._ " And at that exact moment--fucking _great_ there, brain, by the way--my hands lost the uphill battle against the alcohol takeover in my brain. _Well. Shit._

"Pete," he said impatiently as he pushed my hands away and firmly ripped open the button. "You obviously don't 'got it,' so just let me--" Shit. He noticed. He definitely noticed. There's no way he _couldn't_ have noticed, right? Right.

"Um."

"I, uh--"

"Yeah. Um."

"Can you just--"

"Uh. Yeah. Sure." He began taking off my pants, one leg at a time. He got up and put my clothes away while I got comfortable under the covers.

"Just, uh," he starts, looking down at me. "Get some shuteye, okay?"

I give him another salute with a "Yes, sir!" As he's walking out, I call out to him: "Hey, Patrick?"

"Yeah?" he says as he turns around.

_Please don't say it, please don't say it, please **don't. Say it.**_

"You really do have a nice ass," I say with a sleep-drunk smile.

_Fuck._

But to my complete surprise, he actually _smiles_. "Eh, I try," he says, following with a smack to that beautiful bottom and a smile that could make any strong man faint. And that night did end with me needing to change my underwear and sheets.


	2. For It to be Healthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

I woke up feeling all sticky and uncomfortable in nothing but boxers. _Oh, no._ I stuck my arm out to see if there was anyone next to me, praying for my bed to be empty. Luckily, it was. _Phew._ But that relief was soon forgotten, as I felt as if my gut was about to burst. I ran to the bathroom and bent over the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach.

"That's not a pretty colour." Fabulous. I completely forgot about Patrick. Well, not completely, I mean, who could forget an ass like that? Wait. Hold up. Ass. Patrick's ass. Nice ass... _"You have a nice ass." "I try."_ Oh, great. Just absolutely _perfectious._ I told Patrick he had a nice ass last night. _Twice._ How much stupider can I get?

Nonetheless, I chuckled. "You got that right," I replied as I stood and flushed the toilet. I proceeded to brush my teeth.

"While you get yourself sorted out," he began, "I'll go and make us some breakfast." I gave him a thumbs-up, and he turned to walk downstairs. Now, I swear I wasn't staring, I didn't _mean_ to notice. However, I did happen to possibly see what may have been a slight swish to his hips, a spring in his steps. And I...may or may not have enjoyed it a little.

****************

As I walked downstairs, freshly showered and dressed, the smell of food began to waft into my nose and the sound of singing to my ears. I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw Patrick in the kitchen singing something, probably Bowie or something, but I couldn't quite register what he was singing, since he was swinging his hips along to the beat of the music in his head. I soon found myself fixated by his dancing and his voice. So fixated, in fact, that I hadn't heard his question until he had begun calling out my name.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked as I shook my head of some very inappropriate thoughts.

"I said," he replied, chuckling, "Do you want blueberry pancakes or regular?"

"Regular." He nodded curtly and turned back to the stove, pouring some batter in the pan. He leaned against the counter, facing me as he waited for the bottom of the pancake to become fully cooked.

"So, how'd you sleep last night?" Pretty well. No need to over-think it. Easy enough question. It would have been, at least, if he hadn't decided to take that _exact_ moment to dip his finger into the batter and put it in his mouth, and well. Not so easy anymore.

"Good," I managed. _Phew. Nothing too drastic. So far, so good._ He momentarily let his finger escape his mouth with a slick pop to smile and say, "I think you mean _well._ " And popped it back in to get the rest of the batter. As he did so, he turned back around to check if the bottom was done. Realising that it was, he flipped it over, giving me just enough time to press the heel of my palm to the front of my pants, willing myself to calm down. When I wouldn't, I scurried to the living room to watch some Game of Thrones or something, even fucking _Dora,_ anything to get myself to calm down.

"Pete?" I heard him call.

"In the living room," I returned.

"Oh, okay, well, the pancakes are ready...Are you watching _Dora?_ " He said as he entered the room.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. What's it to ya?"

"Wrong show, that's Spongebob." We shared a laugh. My gruff chuckle over his melodic little giggle. _Oh, god._ I seriously need some help. This is a serious problem. I need therapy or some shit.

"Well, your pancakes are ready. You want me to put some stwawbewies and bananas in a widdle smiwee face for you?" I let out a weak laugh as I stand. I know he's mocking me. That's supposed to be mean. It's supposed to make me say hey and hate him forever until he actually brings those pancakes with the strawberries and bananas in a smiley face. So why am I getting off on this?

"No, I'm quite fine. Let's just go eat before Swiper the Fox comes out and decides to eat them." He laughs again and walks ahead of me to the kitchen. _And there's that swish again._ I can handle myself. Nope, never mind. We sit down at the table where the pancakes are set out already.

****************

"You really didn't have to do this," I said when I finished my pancakes. This is really _way_ too much for me.

"But I _wanted_ to," he insisted. "I'd do anything for you." Then something happened, because the live video feed to my eyes swapped to a vision of Patrick on his knees in our bedroom saying the _exact same thing._ I swear, if he doesn't stop this soon, I'm going to do a thing, and it will not be a good thing. _Speaking of doing a thing..._

"Well, I'm gonna go to my room for a bit."

"Yeah, I should probably shower. I smell like a diaper full of week old Indian food." He chuckled. _Great._

"'Kay, cool." We stood together and put our dishes in the sink. Together. Then we went upstairs. Together. And once he was safely behind the closed door of the bathroom, I sprinted down the hall to my room and closed and locked the door with my hand already in my pants. I was right there on the edge, about to tip over, when--

 _Knock, knock._ "Hey, Pete," I heard through the door. _Shit._

"Yeah?" I replied shakily. _Deep breaths, deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Come on, we've done this before._

"I was wondering if you could show me where the towels are." _Okay. Sure. Mission: Towel for Pattycakes. Good._

"Sure, yeah, hang on a sec." _Yeah, wait there until I manage to either come or get my hand out of my pants._ I took deep breaths as I tried to control myself. I slowly lifted my hand out of my pants, it's all going so smoo--oh, wait, nope, there's option number one with its friend, a loud groan that Patrick must have been able to hear. Well. Shit. I hurriedly rushed over to my bed and wipe my hands on my sheets, scolding myself to change them later. Then I took off my shirt, deciding that no shirt is better a shirt with come on it. Then I went over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it abruptly, causing an unsuspecting Patrick leaning on the door to fall into my arms.

"Whoops, sorry," I said as I chuckle.

"No problem," he said, blushing. _Awww, that's adorable._ I hold onto him for a little past necessary before he says, "So, towel?"

"Right, right, right, yeah. Towel." I released him with a small smile that he returned, still blushing. We walked to the bathroom and _there's that little swish again._ Once in the bathroom, I showed him where the towels are, for which he thanked me and I replied with, "You're welcome." Normal exchange. In the clear. No awkwardness. Well. Almost. I walked out of the bathroom to the living room and saw that Dora had changed to Bubble Guppies. I kept it on. What? Bubble Guppies is a legit show. Have you heard them sing? Those harmonies are beautiful. As I'm bobbing my head along and singing what I know, I heard Patrick behind me saying, "Are you _seriously_ still watching kids' shows?"

"Hey, don't judge," I retorted. I must defend the honour of my guppies. "Bubble Guppies is totally 'git."

He laughed. "I'm sure it is, Peter." Then he sobered and came over to sit down, looking at me with a serious face. _Oh, great._

"What's up, dude?"

"We need to talk, Pete."

"About?"

"Why did you do it, Pete? Why did you drink so much?"

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you found the Doctor Who reference in here! (If you did, I salute you.)
> 
> **edit**  
> I should proofread more, I just realised I randomly switched tenses throughout the whole thing, sorry about that.


	3. No One Wants To Tell Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick finally grow some balls and confess their love for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIIIIII'm baaaaaaaaaack! Ha ha ha! Ah HA HA HA HA!  
> HUGE thanks to SelketsChild and Panic4Panic for giving me inspiration for this chapter!  
> And this is also dedicated to DeathValleySara because she is beautiful and deserves a chapter :)

"Why did you do it, Pete?" Patrick asked. "Why did you drink so much?"

_Oh, no._

I had planned on telling him. I had. But if the day I happened to point to on the calendar was April 2075, when he was on his deathbed, well. It couldn't be helped. The point is, I wasn't ready to tell him. So I kind of sat there with this expression of sheer terror and complete panic, while Patrick looked at me expectantly. I took a deep breath preparing myself for whatever my mouth would decide to spew out this time.

"Ok," I began. "I've just been feeling very...sad lately? And the alcohol was just a way to...fill the void?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Patrick retorted with an eyebrow raised.

"Look, I've just been really lonely lately, and my depression has been worse than ever and Ashlee has been giving me a really hard time, which reminds me, I _really_ need to get a restraining order against her and I've been having a lot of trouble working through my feelings for--" I slapped my hand over my mouth. _Ok, that seems like a good place to stop._ Patrick looked at me with confusion and a hint of...was that sadness? Or disappointment? What would he be sad about?

"Oh...you have feelings for someone?"

 _Shit._ "No?" I tried. Patrick glared at me. "Maybe?" Patrick raised his eyebrow. "I'm just gonna go back to no." Patrick rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Pete, I don't care if you have feelings for somebody. You're my best friend. You can tell me anything." I looked down and muttered, "It's you."

Patrick scooted closer to me and cupped my face lifting my head. "I can't hear you," he whispered in a sing-song tone.

"Spongebob Squarepants," I whispered. Patrick laughed, leaning in and kissing me, as I responded just as eagerly. Patrick wrapped his arms around my neck as I fitted my hands to Patrick's curvy hips. We continued on that way in near silence, besides our heavy breathing and soft sighs and moans. Soon I pried myself away with a soft smack.

Patrick smiled. "Well," he started. "It took you long enough."

My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "What?"

"Well, I kinda knew this whole time. And I liked you, too, but I was waiting for you to say it first."

"What gave it away?"

"Well, for one thing, you complimented my ass." _Oh, yeah. I kinda made it my mission to forget about that. Guess it worked. Until now, of course._ "And I, uh..." Patrick looked down and blushed. "I, uh...kinda heard you moaning my name when you were, uh...you know...in your room...earlier today." Oh. _Oh. **Oh.**_

"Oh...You, uh, you heard that?" Patrick nodded bashfully. "Kinda."

"You dirty little man!" I joked, smirking at Patrick, who was blushing furiously.

"I-I-I wasn't, like, l-listening, I just--I just wanted a frickin' towel!"

"Uh huh. Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Patrick shoved me and yelled, "Shut up!" In the process of shoving me, Patrick wound up on top of me, straddling my waist. We laid there for awhile, gazing into each other's eyes. My eyes eventually drifted down to Patrick's lips, which were slowly approaching mine. We met in a tender embrace that quickly turned heated as I worked up the nerve to slide my tongue into Patrick's mouth. Patrick responded with a soft moan/whine. He slightly ground down on my hips, causing me to moan. Patrick moved down my body, trailing kisses as he went down. When he reached my pants, he unbuttoned and unzipped them, pulling them down with my boxers and, well, the rest is only for Patrick and I to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tee hee:3  
> finally managed to get off my ass and write this (my ass being the entire rest of the expansive internet. i was gone for a month, i had to catch up)  
> OH yeah i wasn't dead for the past month i was simply at camp, so...yeah.


	4. Whiskey, I'm Trying (Not) to Cut Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reflection from Patrick's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue we're so starving intro* Oooooohhhhh how it's been so long I'm so sorry I've been gone I was busy trying not to fail SCHOOL  
> Hello my little sporks  
> Hiya  
> How deedo over der  
> Not dead  
> Hola  
> New chapter for ya  
> Also gonna be updating my other story that half of you don't care about  
> I also may be throwin up a nice kinky lil sequel to a certain one-shot about two certain band members *cheeky wink*  
> Anyhow  
> ENJOY

Whiskey. Whiskey eyes. Whiskey skin. Whiskey scent. Glass of whiskey in his hand on that night. He tasted like whiskey on my lips. I can understand his addiction now. Whiskey is a great thing sometimes. It sets me free. Whenever I can feel the pressures of the whole world on my back, I stare into those whiskey eyes and suddenly...everything disappears. I couldn't see that same warm whiskey tone in his eyes. It was a sea of red and white, with those beautiful eyes fighting for attention in all the blood and pain. When I saw him, it was as if I could feel that pain myself. The pain of having to keep up a facade of living a picture perfect life with a picture perfect family with a wife, a dog, and 2.2 kids. But that wasn't how it was at all. He had the divorce, the depression, the insomnia, the fame, the infamy, all of it, and no one to talk to. No one to turn to. He was all alone. Or so he thought. I knew something was wrong. I had never acted. Now I wish I had, though. I never knew it was this bad. But when I had walked into that bar at ass o'clock in the morning, I felt that pain, and all that pain made me feel so...angry. So I reacted angrily. I screamed furiously at him until he had said something that had caught me off guard and made my face turn bright red. And it was in that moment that I had realised...Pete liked me. Like... _like-liked_ me. I like-liked him back, maybe even loved him. But that wasn't my concern. My main mission at the time was to get Pete home safe where he could rest.

Once we were home, not without some struggle, I guided him up the stairs to his room, put him on his bed, and left him to his devices as I got him some water. As I was watching the water fill the glass, I thought about what Pete had said before. Did he really mean it? He was just drunk and his vision must have surely been impaired. I'm not an attractive person...not like Pete. I gasped as I was wrenched out of my thoughts by the feeling of cold water on my hand as the glass overflowed. _Shit,_ I thought, or maybe I said it aloud. I can barely ever tell what I say and what I think. The line between my mind and reality had been blurred by my previous thoughts. I poured out some of the water from the glass so that it was below the point of overflowing before wiping my hand and the glass. As I returned upstairs, I had seen Pete with one shoe off, having all but tangled himself up into his shoelaces. I offered up my services as he began working on his jeans button, which he seemed to be giving him difficulty as well. Before I could catch myself staring at his crotch, I glared down his shoelaces and tried to focus as my shaky fingers worked at the bow on them. After having successfully removed the shoe, I looked back up to see that Pete was still having difficulty. When I tried to help him, he turned his shoulder to me, seeming to be determined to do this himself. After failing two times, I forcefully turned him around and practically ripped his button off and-- _oh._ So _that's_ why he hadn't wanted any assistance with his jeans. After a bit of awkward words exchanged, I slipped his jeans down, looking anywhere but at the obvious bulge in Pete's underwear and dutifully ignoring the steadily growing one in my own jeans. Before I was able to leave the room, he gave me some very interesting parting words, the same as his greeting to me at the bar. I decided to play along with his little joke and respond with a smile and a smack on my ass. That night, sleep finds me easier than it does most nights.

****************

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of retching. I grimaced slightly and began making my way towards the source. I saw Pete bent over the toilet, throwing up violently. _Ah, the sweet, sweet aftermath,_ I thought with a slight smirk. As he pulled away, I saw a sickly green mixed with a pus-filled yellow. It was no pretty colour, and I told him myself, to which he agreed. I left him to get cleaned up while I made us some breakfast. I had walked away with a bit more bounce in my step. Now that I knew that he liked me back, it was time to accelerate our friendship to a relationship. I readied a pot of coffee and turned on David Bowie's album "Hunky Dory" (a favourite of mine) before mixing a pancake batter and heating up the pan, prepping it with a pad of butter as I danced and sang along to the album. As I was about to begin pouring the batter into the pan, I heard Pete's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Without turning around, I asked him if he wanted blueberry or regular pancakes. When I received no response, I turned my head to see him watching...a certain part of my anatomy with dark eyes. I wiggled my hips back and forth slower and, sure enough, his eyes followed my movements. I giggled a bit and called his name a few times before he finally met my eyes and asked me to repeat myself. I couldn't keep myself from chuckling a bit as I did so, since I knew the cause of his delay in response. Once I had poured the batter in, I leaned back on the counter and dipped my finger in the batter and sucked it clean, staring Pete in the eye and watching his pupils grow huge, swallowing up that beautiful whiskey colour in its conquest of lust. When I feel that it's been long enough on the one side, I turn around to see if the pancake had cooked thoroughly. Behind me, I hear a soft groan and retreating footsteps. I chuckle slightly to myself. It seems a bit mean, torturing him like this. But this is way too fun and I'm in way too deep to stop now. But then I think about all the problems and emotions that I felt and saw that night. I still need to talk to him about last night. What if my assumptions had been false? What if he didn't actually think about me that way? What if I was doomed to live an eternity without Pete? Stuck in my thoughts, I almost burned the last of the pancakes. That conversation would have to wait. I had breakfast to serve. I poured some coffee for me and him, preparing it the way I know he likes it made. I set the table with the breakfast I made for the two of us and set out to retrieve him. When I called out to him, he informed me that he was in the living room. As I approached the living room, I heard the voices coming from the TV. As I began to tell him that breakfast is ready, I looked to the screen and saw that, of all the kid shows in all the world, he was watching _Dora._ Fucking _Dora._ I teased him a bit before walking him back to the dining room, where our breakfast was waiting for us, with the same bounce in my step.

Once we had finished eating, he thanked me, and with one phrase, I had made that dark look to his eyes return: _I'd do anything for you._ I felt myself getting aroused as well and decided it was time for a shower. When I was in the bathroom, I heard running footsteps, followed by a door slamming closed. _Gee, I wonder what he was in such a rush to do,_ I thought. I looked around for a bit, before realising that this was Pete's new house and I had no idea where the towels were. Meaning I'd have to ask him and interrupt his little...session. I took a deep breath in preparation before opening the door and walking down the hall. My fist was poised to knock before I heard the soft but gruff noises coming from the other side of the room. There were soft grunts of _mm, fuck_ and moans of my very own name. I soon found myself fixated by the noises he was making. I began to wonder if these were the same noises he made during sex with someone other than his right hand. _Ashlee would know, why don't you go ask her?_ a traitorous part of my mind decided to perk up. It reminded me that I still needed to talk to him about that night, and soon. So I mustered up all the courage I could manage and knocked on the door. Immediately, the noises stopped as I shyly asked him to show me where the towels were. I leaned against the door as I heard shuffling noises, probably him cleaning up. Next thing I knew, I was falling and just as suddenly, I was caught in Pete's arms with my cheek against his bare, warm, whiskey chest. I flushed red as I realised the position we were in. I reminded him ~~and myself~~ about the initial reason that I had come here. He tore his gaze away from me, and I did the same keeping those beautiful whiskey eyes from my view. He guided me a closet in the hall that contained linens and towels. I thanked and made my way back to the bathroom for my shower. While in my shower, I reflected on the past twelve hours. In that time I had found Pete in a bar, felt more pain in my life, guided Pete home, come face to face with his "little Peter" (though it's more like Big Peter), and listened to him jerk off. A lot can happen in twelve hours as it turns out. However, one thing that had not happened yet was my talk with him. After showering, I head back down to the living room, where I saw him watching Bubble Guppies. I chuckled to myself and questioned him, to which he responded with his opinion that Bubble Guppies was a "totally 'git show." I mentally slap myself for getting off topic before sitting down next to him with a serious look on my face. He realised the depth of the situation and turned to look back at me. I finally mustered up the courage of asking him why he wound up drinking so much. He gave me a panicked look, and I knew the answer wouldn't be good. He started talking to me in a high-pitched voice that made it sound like he was asking me how he was feeling. I told him to cut the bullshit, and I guess I struck a nerve because he began talking about his depression acting up, Ashlee, and...his feelings for someone. _It was stupid of you to even think that he would ever like someone like you,_ my evil thoughts screamed. _It's you, it's obviously you, right? I mean, he was moaning your name mere minutes ago._ I always liked that part of my mind better. I asked him in a timid voice who he had a crush on. He mumbled something that sounded something like my name, but I couldn't be sure. Of course, he went and ruined the moment with a Spongebob reference. I still kissed him, despite his cheesiness. He pulled away first. I took that moment to let him know that the feeling was mutual. Pete being Pete, he teased me about accidentally hearing him jerking off. He called _me_ the pervert! Yeah, sure, says the guy who's had sexual fantasies about me since I was 15 and he was 20. I shoved him and wound up on top of him, straddling his waist. We began another heated kiss, as I kissed my way down to his body, tasting his whiskey skin, drinking it in like a man who's been in the desert for months when he reaches an oasis. He tasted of cinnamon whiskey, secret nights stolen away to the bar, even though you're on probation, even though you try to quit, it just sucks you back in. Secrets that no one will ever know. _No one._

So, here we are now. Wrapped up in each other's arms on the couch, enjoying pleasant dreams of the afterglow. Even in my sleep, I feel the warm, comforting embrace of his strong, whiskey arms scaring the nightmares away. Who knows what waits when we wake up? Second rounds, sleepy kisses, a proper talk about our status, labels, labels, labels. But for now, we'll sleep, and I'll be dreaming of my favourite drink: whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT THAT ALLITERATION right therr mmmhmm good shit


End file.
